


a brief account of teenage runaways

by takuyaku



Category: IZONE (Band)
Genre: 2kim, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, F/F, May Contain Inaccuracies, Um what else, introvert minju, jinjoo mentioned, minju and chae both have fam issues, occasional use of strong language, sassy chaewon, seems like no one's writing a 2kim fic so here am i uwu
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-09-27 18:09:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17166794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takuyaku/pseuds/takuyaku
Summary: Kim Minjoo just wants to have a great time in isolation when she happens to stumble upon Kim Chaewon along the roads.(or a 2kim!runaway AU nobody asked for)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for readers, this story contains major inaccuracies so read at your own risk. Updates will be slow but I'll try as fast as I could! Also, the portrayal of the characters may not mirror their real-life personalities; in other terms, they will be very OOC, sorry for that. :(
> 
> This whole thing will be written in Minjoo's perspective by the way.
> 
> (DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction with IZ*ONE members as the characters. All publicly recognizable elements are the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended.)

I NEVER REALLY OPENED MY EYES until I was fourteen.

It was as if finding myself in the beach for the very first time, seeing the vast waterbed that extends to God knows where, feeling the sand flooding the slits between my toes. Realising that the world was so much more than my minimalistic view of it was sort of, depressing. It was disheartening to know that life was much more complex than the sweet ingredients of Mother’s homemade cookies—which I absolutely loved and would try again if given the chance—or the feeling of triumph every time I successfully pile the cards into a similar structure as that of a house.

The epiphany was not the turning point though, but the moment I scribbled my signature on the court papers, stacked as if bearing the weight of this realisation. I have seen it coming anyway, so there was never a reason to be surprised. The separation of my parents was like a looming cloud, always waiting to rain down on me until it finally did. It first occurred to me that something was wrong with this family when Mother would bake cookies while telling me in advance that I could not eat them as they were for some special occasion (of course, I did sneak some and never told her anything). I was a bit confused back then as to why those special cookies needed to be wrapped around in fancy boxes and red ribbons, but I never said a thing. I knew myself to be an expert in not expressing how I truly feel, and so I let Mother do whatever she desired to. Never did I tell her that I wanted to eat the cookies, just like I never actually told her that I was devastated when she left.

Honestly, I couldn’t blame any of them for the separation; perhaps they were just too unhappy living together under the same roof to neglect how I’d feel when they decided to go on separate ways. So instead of bitching about it, I kept my mouth mum. It was Mother who had an affair with one of her colleagues anyway, not Father—and it was quite unusual of her. She did not look like she’d do such act in the first place. All my life I’m being reminded of the stereotypical tendency that claims married men have greater chances of having affairs than their female counterparts, but that is a stereotype for a reason, since marriage is not as stable as it looks like. Seeing the guy that she cheated Father with was like a nightmare for me; he was a personification of everything that I lacked, a breathing representation of her choice in dumping both of us. It could have been honestly worst for Father; I could only imagine how he felt seeing said affair guy.

Luckily enough, the court granted Father my custody. Perhaps they sensed that I was too uncomfortable seeing Mother and her boyfriend back then, and honestly, I’d consider uncomfortable as an understatement. The two then tied the knot and immigrated to England shortly after her marriage with Father was invalidated. And no, I don’t want to live with them and see the guy every day for the rest of my life, but if told so, I will reluctantly abide. So it was such a relief when Father took me back into our familiar house. Surprisingly though, I moved on pretty quick from the divorce and carried with my own life. Sure, it was miserable for the first few weeks but after that, everything pieced itself back together. Nothing really changed other than Mother’s physical absence, which did not even make that much of a difference. She was detached from our home even before the separation anyway.

The problem though was with Father and his severe attachment to a person that was already long gone. At night when the walls are still and the house falls into silence, his woes would echo from his bedroom, disrupting the tranquillity with his drunken begs and desperate cries. Hearing how each night he would weep and call for her, it grew to become a routine for me—for the both of us, even though I doubt that he actually knows that it affects my sleeping pattern. It was tolerable during summer vacations, but was so much of a nuisance when school season comes around and I’m cramming almost all of my exams. Sleep-talking would be the excuse the morning after, each and every time I ask him about what I heard last night. He also promises that he would tone his sleep-talking down, but never actually did. On a real note though, he could have just told me that he hasn’t moved on yet. I would have understood him, told him that it’s fine. People have varying lengths of getting over someone, some quickly that it seems as if they never truly cared—myself, as an example—and some would still cry even after years. But no, he never said anything other than coating his cries with his supposed sleep-talking. I have known Father as an honest and kind man, but it seemed that the honesty faded along with Mother’s presence in the house. He would simply deny it when I give him a doubtful look, as if crying made him less of a man, as if it took a chunk of his masculinity away, as if the deed invalidated him as my Father.

Nevertheless, we became distant from each other as the years stretched by. Though I wished I could have done something to at least alleviate his emotions, but I couldn’t even do that when I feel empty too.

 

-

 

It was at the autumn break of my senior year when I decided I needed a breath of fresh air—preferably somewhere far, far away.

 

It was more than of a eureka than an epiphany, although an obvious one for that matter; if you’re unsatisfied with how things in life turned out then change it according to your own will. Trust me, the mundane of going living in this city and hanging out with friends gets boring, _really boring_. Boredom wasn’t the problem though, it’s just me realising that every once in a while, I would need an exploration somewhere that is miles away from this greyscale of a city, and this house is a shit hole anyway so I figured out that there’s really nothing much to lose.

I have this never-ending thirst for discovering the undiscovered. I have always found solace in the presence of the unknown that lies beyond what I can see, and that itching wanderlust grew over me throughout the years, until I’ve had enough to awaken the reckless teenager inside of me.

And that recklessness then fathomed that running away from home wasn’t the best thing to do if you’re an underage, broke teenager. You could be denounced, detained, killed, or worse, jailed. But where is the fun part in keeping yourself within the constricts of security anyway?

 

Father’s car, old and worn-out as it always was—looked endurable enough for a long road trip, I suppose. It was the first car that I’ve ever drove by myself anyway—thanks to Father being my instructor in that case, and so I’ve worked out that the familiarity of the Picanto will decrease the risk of me causing a car accident along the way. Sure, I am completely tangling myself into a whole new level of trouble by stealing the keys from him out of impulse, but adolescence really did took its toll on me; it made me do things that would totally jeopardise myself, but simultaneously, taught me the art of not giving a single fuck.

 

It only took me around an hour to finish packing the things I needed. It took even longer to take Father’s keys from his bedroom when he would stay up until half past three drinking his sadness away. Good thing it has that really shiny car locator attached along that would glow within the darkness of the room, it made the keys easier to find.

I made as little noise as possible whilst packing everything that were essential—instant food, thick clothes, a copy of Le Guin’s _The Wind’s Twelve Quarters_ , and inarguably the most vital object for my survival, my Nintendo switch. Father gifted it to me during my thirteenth, though I initially asked for an Xbox, but I suppose we can’t have all the nice things in the world, can we?

I didn’t bother taking my phone. Father's quite the expert in modern technology may I say, as gadgets and the shenanigans related concerned with his work field. If that’s the case, then the guy wouldn’t have a problem in tracking me down. I do not want him to trace me anyway, at least not after the fulfilment of my main objective for this road trip, which is still unknown but I’ll sure find that out later.

 

The feeling of guilt came after successfully outsmarting Father; that is before I could even leave the doorstep. I tried to ignore the calling of my conscience but all efforts went swirling down the drain. God, I swear this is what’s most annoying, but I needed to at least leave him with something that will serve as a reassurance that his daughter’s just as fine as his Picanto.

 

_Dad,_

_First of all, I need you to stay calm. And please stop panicking if you already are._

_I’m terribly sorry that I couldn’t join you at breakfast this morning. I ran away and took your keys. I know, I know. That’s very shitty rude of me, and I am sorry. Perhaps you should change your car locator the next time around, one that isn’t as shiny as this one. It makes it a ton easier to find._

_Also, please don’t call the cops on me. I’ll definitely come back, and maybe then you could scold me for my recklessness. But please, no cops._

_By the way, I prepared you some cereal in the fridge as an offer of apology._

_Love,  
Minjoo xoxo_

 

I nodded as I attached the piece of paper on the fridge's door. It wasn’t that bad of a letter, I could only hope he would not faint the moment he sees it.

 

-

 

The thrill of running away came in the form of a flash flood, rushing through my veins as I pass by the awakening highways of the city. This whole thing feels like a first-hand experience of what Plato’s man went through after leaving the cave, or when Neo detached himself from the Matrix, not knowing what lies beyond but certain that there is so much ahead than their repetitive routines.

I drove carefully, passing by a patrolling police car across the opposite lane in the process. If they were a little too tight then I am doomed to be detained for underage driving, but since they luckily weren't, I would not have to worry that much; unless they stopped right in front of me and requested to see my licence—speaking of which, I left at home. It was Father’s anyway and not mine to meddle with. Sure, it does surprise me how I considered meddling with his licence as a graveyard sin but not the stealing of his car, but taking the licence with me will make no use other than entangling him in the mess—if I ever get caught by the cops, that is.

I drove for several miles more. According to my baseless calculations, I could reach the countryside by eight o’clock this morning, that’s without the interruptions of heavy traffic and police frontiers. I’m not entirely familiar with the twists and turns though, and I only have an old rugged map to make use of—and so, at this point I am almost half a whole percent certain that I will lose myself in the following hours.

 

-

 

Scratch that percentage, I am completely, certainly lost.

The thrill was long gone by now. If only I have known that I’ll lose the feeling just as swift as I experienced it, then I should have kept it for later use, though I doubt that it would make it last longer.

Daylight came and I’m still nowhere near the countryside. It’ll surely be easier to reach it by taking the expressways but I could not risk myself in getting detained by the cops, and so I have to find my way around just through these shortcuts, assisted by a map that wasn’t even up to date. There were roads that are seemingly operating based on this map but actually closed since way back the 70’s.

The middle noon finds me having a break inside this convenience store, a few kilometres away from the city proper. The wind was chilly outside even with seemingly clear skies, and what could be more comforting than a cup of sizzling hot, spicy seafood ramen. Luckily, there’s also a gasoline station just by across the road so I wouldn’t have to worry about running out of gas in the middle of nowhere.

 

As for the convenience store, well it was quite—should I say, _convenient_ , truly living up to its name. Not only do they have a mini-grocery, but also served lots of grub, ranging from ramen to rice cakes to pastries. It was quite odd mixing pastries with noodles inside a room but they sure did and honestly, it wasn’t that bad as I thought it would be. Plus, they cook the best ramen that I’ve tasted in my life so far and I got to give them extra credits for that.

 

I settled on the table by the window—cliché as it sounds but there’s something really enjoyable about it. The road seemed narrow in comparison to the gigantic ones they have back in the proper, but it stretched like a never-ending pathway that I could only see a limited view of what lies beyond.

Father always taught me to keep notice of what was after me, especially in driving. He may have focused more on the practical points such as making successful U-turns—which I never actually perfected but who cares—and how to properly press your foot on the breaks so I won’t be tossing myself forward every time I try to stop the momentum. Frankly, I had a hard time with the breaking, and it’s definitely not my fault when Father’s Picanto was one-step closer to a total breakdown, like with the breaks hanging on a loose thread and everything. That actually made it dangerous while travelling—damn, I truly hate myself for realising these possibly hazardous things when I’m already doing it for the past hours.

Father randomly pops out of my head again. Throughout this entire trip, he would suddenly swim through the surfaces of my thoughts, and now’s the umpteenth time he does. He would not just leave me alone; I guess it’s just me being guilt-ridden, or probably me worrying if he already reported me to the cops for stealing his Picanto. Knowing him, I am pretty much sure that he’s not capable of doing the latter, and it is even strange to think about me being sorry all of a sudden. Father does not usually pop out from my head whenever I’m away from home, but I could say that this situation’s different. I just stole his car and that’s really unsuitable for a daughter to do.

Before I could even think of how ungrateful of a brat I am for doing it, my thoughts then shifted to Mother and—sweet Jesus, my nostalgic thoughts are raging at this moment. Actually, I knew Mother to be more of a carefree person than Father, who would drown himself with loads of paper work. Even back then when they were still together, he’d always been a workaholic, I suppose it runs in his blood. But Mother was daring, always seeking for adventures far from the city, to the comforts of the bucolic pleasantry the rural has to offer. Perhaps that is why she decided to move to England; I couldn’t honestly tell what was the reason behind the emigration, if she just grew tired of Seoul or if she wanted to get far from us as much as she could. But nevertheless, I liked her for being venturesome, as she seemed happier than Father who was excessively timid and careful.

I closed my eyes, albeit opening it again after a second to conclude that Mother was just like me. I wondered if I would ever follow her footsteps in the future; if I’ll also leave Father alone, not considering what he’d feel the moment I step out of the doorstep.

 

Not wanting to be engulfed in the angst, I looked at the ramen bowl that rests on the table, lifting it close enough for a slurp.

 

“Aren’t you a little too young to drive?” A feminine voice was what disrupted me from savouring another mouthful.

I set the bowl on the table in front, shifting my eyes to the speaker who stands a few feet away from me. “Excuse me?”

“I said aren’t you too young to drive?” She repeats, even louder. “You look like you’re twelve.”

I blinked.

“I’m seventeen, thank you very much.” My reply came with a sprinkle of sarcasm after being startled. The stranger stares at me for a good moment before shrugging nonchalantly. Her brown locks that extends to her waist bounces lightly at the subtle movement. She stands towering my seated figure, and I think it’s safe to say that she’s around the same age as me, probably even older. I watched as she shifts on her stance, noting the distinctive details in my head; khaki pullover that seemed too loose for her fit, tattered light-coloured jeans, a pair of ugly-ass _Balenciaga_ —I’m not entirely certain about the brand, but if it is indeed, then she could’ve gone for some _Converse_ instead. Though other than that, there wasn’t anything that really stood out from her except that she still managed to look adorable with her mess of an outfit.

‘Course, I did not say that out loud to her face; that’s just embarrassing. Also, how did this girl even know that I’m capable of driving?

“Mind to explain the keys on the table then?” She speaks, almost immediately as I was about to ask her how’d she found out.

I was about to send her off when my sight landed on the keys that are indeed, resting just above the table, looking so shimmering and vulnerable for potential thieves. And though I wanted to tell her to mind her own _goddamn_ business, it was somehow rash of me to leave it exposed. I’d surely be so fucked up if I lose it.

I thanked her keen eye silently.

I pocketed the keys first, making sure it was secured as it should be before telling her, “I only know how to.”

I drifted my eyes back to the window, on the long, endless road as the pretty stranger settles herself on the chair opposite me.

 

We stayed sitting across each other for a dozen seconds, letting the everyday noise of the store to engulf the silence. It’s quite easy for me to get completely lost in my own thoughts, ignoring the surroundings around, but I can’t help to wonder if it is the silence or is it her presence that made the atmosphere rather uncomfortable. She sure made me feel awkward as hell. From what I was used to, strangers don’t sit around other strangers’ tables; that does not happen usually unless they need anything from me. A phone call is my best guess.

 

I glanced at her, trying to confirm my idea. “Is there something you need?”

She places her intertwined hands above the table as she fumbles on it, rather looking awkward. I suppose it’s not a phone call then.

“Look,” she starts, “I’m not good at doing this, really. I suck at talking to other people, especially to strangers inside a store. But I happen to be a road traveller, if that’s how you say it—I don’t know. I’m new to things like this, you know- this whole travelling thing. Also, I don’t know if you’d want to know but I’m heading down south, to Busan.” She takes a deep breath for a moment, “And I am not a bad person, that I can assure you.”

My eyebrows instinctively cocked at the phrase. Though I stayed silent as she speaks up again, “Right, so moving on,” She pauses, leaning slightly against the table with her eyebrows raised. “I, mayhaps, have a deal to propose?”

I stayed mum, processing everything and connecting the dots, coming down to a rather radical conclusion. “If you’re going to mug me then I’m sorry to disappoint but I’m broke.”

That deduction came from the influences of action movies and crime fiction.

She widens her eyes as a response, but composed herself after a brief second. “I did not mean it like that. If I was a thief then I could’ve just, I don’t know, snatched your keys and stormed out of this place? Which is meaningless because I don’t even know how to drive.”

A gap passed before she speaks up again, a little less defensive this time. “I wouldn’t want to do that anyway, that’s like a one-way ticket straight to jail.” She then points at herself with her index finger. “And just look at me, I wouldn’t survive a second in jail.”

Her index finger hangs on the air as we stare at each other.

I nodded, tearing my eyes off her to have another taste.

“Anyhow,” she starts again, sounding casual even with the usage of a formal word. “What I meant was, you have a car—that’s quite convenient for a traveller like me, don’t you think? Not that I’m stalking you or anything. You see, I’m just the observable type.”

Another mouthful as I nodded lightly. “I noticed.”

I peeped at the stranger in front of me, and honestly speaking, she wasn’t bad herself; not bad as in not the type that would rob all of my belongings. I can never be sure about that though. A beautiful face doesn’t make someone less of a criminal, that is if she really is.

Nevertheless, I was entirely amused by her antics, and I have no idea if that’s a bad thing or the other way around. “Really though, where is this going?”

“Take me with you.” She replied abruptly, like she practiced how to say that but the moment she did, it sounded nothing but impulsive, even with a hint of desperation.

I leaned back at the soft mattress of the chair as she continues to maunder. “I do not care if you’re a serial killer or whatever. I really need to reach Busan. And I promise I won’t be a bother, I just need to get there.”

I crossed my arms and blinked. “I’m not a serial killer. And you’re also not doing a decent job at selling yourself.”

She gives me a look of mischief, masking the former look of desperation right away. “Perhaps that wouldn’t be the case if I told you that I have a dozen litres of fuel packed with me right now.”

 

I absolutely have no idea how she even thought of packing gasoline bottles but the instant she showed them to me—securely jammed in her suitcase—as proof, I was convinced in a heartbeat.

“Fine.” I sighed, pointing my index finger at the direction of the car that’s resting on its designated place. “You see that parked Picanto over there, the yellow one?”

She follows my line of sight. “That’s my car.” Jesus, it still makes me uneasy even just claiming it. “Also, your ticket to Busan.”

“Thanks.” She looks at me and gives a triumphant, cocky smile, as if she just won a billion-won lottery. “You sound like an Uber driver by the way.”

 

-

 

Apparently, her name was Chaewon, _Kim Chaewon_. And thankfully, Kim Chaewon has a good sense of direction. If it wasn’t for her, then I would have probably found myself high to the north, since she told me—laughed at me, actually—that I was going through the wrong course for all this time. The border is the last thing I would want to find myself into, so admittedly, I was a bit grateful.

However, she wasn’t the nice type, in fact she’s far away from that sugar, spice and everything nice impression I had when I first saw her. Yes, her angelic features were _visually appealing_ —even more than that, she may have been the prettiest girl I had ever seen, but I think she doesn’t have to know what I think of her.

Chaewon is very intuitive, should I say. I don’t frequent myself in classifying people and putting them into these categories I made up myself, but it’s impossible not to notice her face that seemed annoyed most of the time, like the world always does something that upsets her. And so, I never intended to tell Chaewon my name, well not yet when I’m still not sure whether she’s a straight-faced, serial-killing psychopath or just a teenager who just had to seek thrill in the most dangerous way possible. But then, how could I really confirm which is which? To my extended knowledge, killers aren’t the type that would expose themselves quickly, at least the high-functioning ones.

So, I intended to not bring up the topic of names and identities all throughout this trip. I’m aware that it’s just impossible, considering the lengthy distance to Busan, but I’m quite confident that Chaewon wouldn’t want to know things about me anyway.

 

Turns out, I was wrong.

 

“ _Are you nuts?_ ” Was the first question that popped out of my head after the seatbelt secured me in my seat. The Picanto stays immobile just as we are stunned inside of it. I tried to grasp what little I could to take everything in, not bothering to acknowledge the nauseating feeling that hit through me afterwards.

Chaewon stays wide-eyed on the shotgun seat, after pressing her foot on the _goddamn_ breaks just because I wouldn’t reveal my name out loud. The sudden ceasing of the momentum felt as if I’m being tossed into another dimension, like going through the event horizon of a black hole only to be pulled back to Earth—which is impossible by the way, at least that is according to the property of advanced astrophysics. I could rant about it for a whole hour if only I knew anything deeper about said knowledge field. But undergoing through the experience was surely sickening. I never really took seat belts earnestly but right now I am sure thankful as hell that it was invented.

 

“Not really,” Chaewon speaks up after a while, sounding innately composed rather than shocked. She diverts her gaze at me, presumably done recovering from what she had done beforehand. “So… I suppose you’d tell me your mystery name by now?”

It took an approximate five seconds before I finally pulled myself together.

“It’s Minjoo.” I absentmindedly affirmed, already not caring about the circumstances that I deliberated earlier. “And Minjoo would totally appreciate it if you stop trying to get us killed.”

 

-

 

“This is a shit map.” Chaewon tells me at around 2200H, scanning said map that I got from one of the dusty folders sandwiched between Father’s untouched paper loads. I should’ve known better than taking it really, but at least it’s sort of helpful; in a way that it serves as our archaic Google maps without the GPS system.

The arrival of the night seemed slower than usual. By the time it did we already found ourselves driving through the roads of the countryside. It was a long, exhausting ride; though we had taken road breaks every two hours or so, it still drained the hell out of me.

Chaewon gives up only after a dozen seconds, tossing the map at the backseat before peering at me. “Don’t you have an alternative, perhaps your phone? Waze could do the job a hundred times better.”

“I don’t have a phone.” I told her, eyes straight on the road.

She evidently rolls her eyes, simultaneously looking exasperated and hopeless. “I don’t have a phone either.” I wondered if she decided not to bother taking it or if she genuinely didn’t own one, which is quite odd and almost unbelievable for a millennial to be so.

I drove in silence with Chaewon occasionally giving me instructions on what twists and turns to take. I honestly don’t know why I trust her so much—for all I know she could be a serial-killing nutcrack manipulating me into a ploy, but I don’t really have much of a choice in this scenario, do I? I need a fuel supplier and Chaewon happens to be a breathing gasoline station.

And even if I wouldn’t wholly accept it, but a company or two won’t really be that much of a vexation.

 

-

 

Another hour passes by and we finally settled the Picanto beneath an oaken tree.

“We’ll be resting here for the mean time.” The rumbling of the engine came into a halt as I detached the key from its designated keyhole. Leaning my back on the soft cushion of the driver’s seat, I closed my eyes and quietly heaved a sigh. Of course, travelling is exhausting, and driving isn’t any less tiring, I should’ve known.

It was peaceful for a second, and all I could hear were the soft conversations of the leaves as they brush softly against each other. A sense of serenity rang through me, like a massive wave washing the seashore of exhaustion.

 

“You’re actually aware that we could’ve reached Busan by now if you weren’t such a sluggish driver, do you?” Chaewon’s voice floats through the subtle clamours of the leaves.

Her tone was anything but annoyed and that sort of intrigued me for a bit. I took a glimpse at her and she looked rather, troubled? More so bothered. I couldn’t really distinguish the expression her face showcases as our eyes met and I immediately looked away.

I’m not good at gazing at people’s eyes; cliché as it sounds but I think eyes are the windows to one’s soul, like a wormhole that would lead straight to their world. And it’s also awkward to stare at them.

“We aren’t nifty navigators.” I shrugged as I made myself comfortable.

Chaewon leans her back on the shotgun seat, covering both her hands under the sleeves. “We don’t have to if we take the expressway.”

I tightened my lips at the given option, not knowing what to say back. Of course, I couldn’t afford to do what she suggested. We’ll be passing other cities along the main road and it’s almost impossible not to drive by a turnpike. We’ll be turned over to the police the moment I’d stop for a check-up, and being detained is one thing that I don’t want to happen to me in this trip.

I wonder what lie should I spurt out, but I can’t seem to find a reasonable one. I personally realised that it is harder to lie to a pretty face, and that just seems nonsensical for me.

“We can’t do that.” I can actually, if I’d like to spend days in detainment. It wasn’t entirely the truth, but not a modest lie either. “It’s too risky.”

“And why so?” Her questioning stare remains on me, seemingly waiting for an answer. “Those guys only need your licence and a road fee or whatever. I don’t see any risk here.”

_God. She asks too many questions._

“Exactly.” I breathed, giving in. “I don’t have one.”

“What?”

“I don’t have a licence.”

“What?”

“Please don’t make me repeat it again.” An exhausted sigh escapes my lips as I arched on my seat, utilising the headrest for cosiness. The latter could only look at me with probably the most dumbfounded expression I have seen her mustering so far. It fades after mere seconds though, replaced by one that is gathered out of pure amusement.

“And what are we supposed to do if we get caught by the cops?” I managed to suppress a smile when I heard the word we; I—at least—have to look as if I was not moved by the phrase, though I think it’s pretty lowly of me to be touched just by a simple question. I don’t particularly consider it to be a kind act, but it felt relieving knowing that I have a total stranger backing me up if ever the circumstances get messy in the future.

As for the answer to her question, I honestly have no idea. I guess I would just speed up to a hundred and have police cars chasing after me, which is kind of exciting but could get me jailed. Although truthfully, that is the sole alternative I can do if we ever encounter ourselves in such situation. I’m quite confident that we will not.

I didn’t voice out what I thought, of course. “That’s why we won’t be taking the expressways.” I tried to sound reasonable. “I might as well be accused of car robbery if we ever get caught anyway.”

Sometimes, my thoughtlessness astounds even myself.

I kept a calm demeanour, shifting on my seat in trying to find a comfortable spot. Though inwardly I wanted to choke myself for the hastiness of my words. The air inside grew warmer ten folds that I had to roll down the windows to freshen myself.

However, Chaewon didn’t seem to be worried that I just revealed myself to be a thief, that is to my absolute surprise. I wondered if she simply overlooked the _crystal-clear_ idea of what I just said, or if she realised the catch but couldn’t care nonetheless.

“Well…” She rests her head on the designated cushion too, shutting her eyes before telling me, “…let’s just hope your unlicenced ass is lucky enough to avoid detainment.”

I scoffed under my breath upon sensing the irony of a rather sarcastic wish.

Time then passed by silently; the hushes of the leaves loomed around us like phantom presences; quite frightening to describe that way since this place is as remote as a countryside can be. There are a few houses that are yards away to our north but staring at it made its distance farther than my estimation.

Exhaustion engulfs me as I shut my eyes close, and now’s an excellent time to fall into deep slumber if Chaewon wasn’t being a loud pain in the nose.

“This place is eerily silent,” she says all of a sudden, voice piercing through the tranquillity as she speaks once again, “it gives me the goosies.”

“Gives you the what?”

“The goosies. A slang for goosebumps. Oh my god, don’t tell me you haven’t heard of it?”

I looked at her and shook my head. “Not ringing any bell.”

“Have you been living under a rock? Term's widely used nowadays.” She stretches her arms high as she yawns, adorably.

I suppressed myself from fawning over said deed. “I guess you could consider me as the Patrick Star of a non-oceanic Bikini Bottom then.”

“Not quite.” She retorts casually, looking over me with an affable expression. “You resemble that green frog on the internet more, what was it called again…?”

My psychic skills kicked in instantaneously; it was like I knew what she's going for. “You mean, Pepe the frog?”

“Yeah, that one.”

 

And we spent most of the night conversing in small talks rather than taking a short rest, though it was more of her generating conversations because I’m not particularly good at it. Chaewon’s an unexpected loud passenger along the ride; I didn’t even expect someone to hitchhike in this trip, and as much as I’d rather be alone for this whole thing, being with her was nice. I learned not to mind her presence along the journey. I prefer her nice company a teeny-weeny bit more than taking the roads alone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick thanks for the kudos!

I WOKE UP to the chirping of the birds nearby, and the first thing I did was to instinctively check the time.

My wristwatch tells me it’s already half past six, and seeing everything bathed in the morning calm, I suppose I overslept and completely lost the thought of time in the comforts of my dreams and snores. My plan was to only rest for a couple hours and hit the roads back at four, but I had no alarm clock to wake me up, and it’s hard waking up without such nuisance.

Chaewon was still in deep slumber on the shotgun seat though, head leaning against the glass panel with her knees raised, tugging on the sleeves of her pullover. It was kind of a rough pose for sleeping personally, and the fact that she managed to doze off with it speaks how tired she must have been just watching me drive for almost a day.

I decided not to wake the sleeping princess, so instead, I refilled the fuel tank first then made sure if the engine and tires have no problems for another long trip; by that I meant opening the bonnet and only staring at the oil-vapoured machines for a second or two before shutting it close again. Truthfully, I did not know how to check if a car’s fine or is about to explode—Father taught me how to and I tried hard to listen. I guess _trying_ isn’t enough.

After making sure everything’s good to go, I started the engine and hit the roads once more.

 

“Morning, looks like we’re still in the countryside.” Chaewon wakes up a couple miles afterwards, rubbing her eyes while extending her other arm that it blocked a portion of my driving view.

“Hey watch it.” I caught her fist mid-air, immediately letting go as she yanks it back. “You’re going to get us killed again.”

She snorts as a response, once again pulling the end-sleeves of her pullover to cover her hands. In my peripheral vision, I could see her warming the insides of her clenched fists. “You just wouldn’t let it go.” 

“I definitely won’t let go of an incident where I nearly died.”

“That was one time, Minjoo. One time.” She replies, then extending an arm once again as she covers her yawn with the free hand.

I was about to reply when—finally—the hunger that I felt the night before strikes once again.

It was expected; we’ve been travelling for more than 24 hours and I’ve never had a decent meal other than that one ramen bowl I took yesterday and the snacks I packed in my luggage. On the other hand, Chaewon had absolutely nothing in possession other than some clothes and a bunch of fuel bottles she flexes too often about—not the very ideal things to bring for a runaway kid, but it’s Chaewon, who knows what’s going on in her mind.

Cold sunlight greets the asphalt of the empty road as we—the sole vehicle around—passed through, its rays peeking from leaves of trees and occasionally glowers at us if we pass through grasslands. There’s a minimal number of traditional houses by the fields and a few farmers doing their farming works.

           

I took a left turn when we encountered a split road and that seemed to bother Chaewon a bit.

“Where the hell are you going?” She utters, eyes going back and forth from the map to the road ahead.

I kept my eyes focused. “Trying to find a place for breakfast.”

She watches me drive as I took another turn, hoping to find at least a small traditional shop to stop by; to no avail, there were only acres and acres of grasslands that it’s sort of a relief to see how agriculturally-inclined this place still is, no matter the industrialised skyscrapers the cities are known for.

Chaewon didn’t speak all throughout the morning ride, her mind seemingly adrift to heaven knows where.

“Could you hand me the map?” I then told her, stopping over the side of the still empty road. A bus stop stands ahead as Chaewon hands it to me seconds later.

“You won’t find any shops there, there’re only express lanes and tollways.” She then moves closer to me, elbow bumping over the gear lever in the process. I almost panicked when she did that; if it weren’t for the engine being dead then we could’ve had our second _almost-death_ situation while crashing straight towards the bus stop.

Good thing, our asses were saved.

“Look. The expressways are here,” Chaewon points an index finger on the map, right where the highways supposedly are. Said map looked like it will be ripped off at any minute now, even with us handling it with utmost caution.

“So, we must be around…” the side of her arm bumps into mine as she estimates our location on the map, fingertip tracing the fragile paper, “…here. I guess, hundreds and hundreds of miles away from Gwangju.”

I peeped at her, eyebrows slowly furrowing. “How do you know that?”

“I’ve kept track.” She shrugs, view still glued on the map. “Besides, this place looks really familiar to me. I can’t remember but I’m certain I’ve been here before.”

I watched her as she taps her fingertips on the map, noting how her eyes blink and her eyebrows furrowing in deep concentration. I’ve always observed the facial expressions of people, what they display so vulnerable on their faces whenever they’re talking, eating, sleeping, walking—it’s how I choose my response whenever they engage in a conversation with me. That’s why it was easy to for me to say that Father was lying when he told me about his sleep-talking, although it was a really obvious lie, the expression just solidified my assumptions.

And so, even if I wasn’t the talkative type, I have always claimed that I am good at people and their facial expressions. Though right at this moment, I’ve found out that that skill isn’t always applicable for all people I had and will meet.

Instead, I’ve noticed how the side of Chaewon’s orbs looked pretty when showered with morning sunlight, as if it were deep pools of sweet honey; eyelashes curled in just the right curve.

 

I think Chaewon’s beautiful—like _objectively_ _beautiful_ in the sense of when I’ll introduce her to some random stranger and still, they would certainly think the same as me right now.

 

“Why are you staring?” She suddenly asks after a stretched stillness. Instinctively, I tilted my head to what was in front of us, almost too immediate to appear as calm.

She then gives me a waggish smile, but said nothing other than the fact that she looked lightened up. I assume she remembered something then.

“I wasn’t.” I was, but there’s no way in hell I’m going to say that without any reason.

“You were.”

I tried to shrug it off in the most casual way I could, but rather ended up sheepishly. “Yes, ‘cause you had little dirt on your face, under your nose.” That was a lame excuse. All throughout this trip, I learnt that Chaewon likes—or is obsessed, who knows—seeing her reflection every time, noticing as to how she’d open the window to adjust the side mirror once in every while. I was even concerned that the mirror will just fall out of a sudden due to her constant adjustments.

A look of mischief was her counterattack, like she knows I am lying.

“There really is,” I extended my hand towards her as soon as I said that, thumb rubbing where the imaginary dirt is supposed to be, “right here.”

I pretended in removing the made-up dirt for a couple seconds more, cupping a portion of her cheek at once. Her upper lip twitches when my thumb got dangerously close, though the movement was at its subtlest that if I wasn’t entirely the focusing type then I would’ve missed it. Chaewon stays mum on the shotgun, probably staring at me dubiously or something. I can’t really pin point that out. Oddly enough, it doesn’t make me uncomfortable that I’m under her stare and am kinda caressing her cheek.

I backed off afterwards and heaved a quiet sigh. “Done.”

“Thanks. Though you could’ve just said that you were crushing on me earlier.” She mimics my action, resting an arm on the headrest as she faces me. “But you just had to lie.”

“There really was-”

“ _Anyway_ ,” she cuts off mid-sentence, “I remembered that there’s this fancy restaurant straight ahead. They serve good grubs so we may as well take a look.”

“How’d you know it’s still there?”

She raises her shoulders only to drop it again. “Instinct. Besides, it’s the nearest food shop around.”

I was used to just follow what Chaewon says without much opposition. And so, we proceeded.

 

- 

 

Turns out, what she meant by _fancy_ was a foreign diner serving foreign dishes while amidst of a very traditional town.

It didn’t really seem as a restaurant to me, but rather as one of those countryside lodgings that a protagonist stays for a night or two in western indie films. I think inn is a much more appropriate term for it—it has all its qualifications anyway. The place offered rooms for night-stays, breakfasts after the waking up and this huge-ass parking lot that is quite convenient since I always end up occupying two spaces when parking all at once.

The cuisine was obviously European, mainly so English. Even the structure and design of the building looked like it came straight out of a classic English town. Everything was tainted with russet; the wooden walls, the cosy radiance of the lights, the carpeted floors—now I don’t know much about contemporary arts and the likes, but if the current spectrum of it extends from being an actual medieval-like architecture to a shitty, metamodern revitalisation of being _medieval_ , then this place is somewhere in between the extremities.

The food seemed really savvy though, as I watch a group of foreigners beside our table devour the servings. Weirdly enough, there weren’t a lot of people around; I even expected this place to be flooded with foreigners but the majority are Asians.

Chaewon sits across me, elbow pressed against the table as she places her chin on her palm, seemingly bored more than anything. “I wish I brought my phone. At least I could see what’s happening with the world.”

“Cool. But phones are bad for the eyes.”

“And so is your Nintendo.” Answered the former, chin still being supported by her palm. She borrows my switch more often than I do during this trip-thing, and in one day she had managed to surpass my standings in Mario Kart while messing my creations in Minecraft.

Our orders came soon after.

It was the typical fry up, full English that I’ve heard are fairly known overseas, and I can definitely see why. There were too many plates of sausages and bacons being landed on our table that I wondered if the waitress really heard our number of orders correctly.

Seeing it just makes my mouth water.

“Would you like a cup of coffee or tea?” The waitress then asks us with a noticeable unpolished Korean.

“Coffee.” I haven’t even made up my decision when Chaewon looks up at the petite waitress—Nako, her name written on the tag—who sported a sweet, warm smile. I guess she might be Japanese, and it’s absolutely fascinating how she works at an English inn situated in a vast Korean countryside. There’s so much cultural diversity within her, I suppose.

“A double espresso to be specific, and don’t put any sugar at all. Thanks.” Added Chaewon afterwards. Nako notes it on a small paper, trying to appear anything but stunned because honestly, no seventeen-year-old would prefer her coffee to be such brew. She then looks at me, awaiting my order. “And you Miss?”

“Just white coffee.” I told her simply; though honestly, I would have preferred tea over coffee at any day—except maybe for now. I’m not really fond of drinking coffee; they keep me awake at night even when I consume just a couple gulps the morning before. But we’re in a road trip, and staying late at night while driving is one of its musts.

The hunger kicks in after having the first strip of bacon. I ate what was served, not minding the probability of getting an obnoxious constipation later in the day. Chaewon was even worst, seeing as to how she went from one plate to another in just a span of a short time. And she chewed really loudly that the people around are probably confused that such angelic face would eat like a labourer for the bourgeoisie.

Nevertheless, it felt heavenly for my satisfied stomach upon finishing the last of the sausages. Coffee was served right after by another waitress who was taller than the previous one.

“We should ask the waitresses if we could recharge the switch.” Chaewon suggests, putting down her cup after guzzling half of it. “I’m itching to crush that Sakura girl in Fortnite. She had like twelve consecutive victory royales while playing with me.”

I furrowed my eyebrows at the name. “You played with Sakura?”

“Yeah, last night. Girlie’s in your friends list.”

“You two talked?”

“She messaged first.” Chaewon raises her cup once again for a drink. “Who is she anyway? I admit, she’s pretty great, it’s infuriating.”

I looked through the window beside me, vision laying over the nearby plants as I try my best in avoiding her eyes. “A classmate.”

“She seemed worried about you though.” Chaewon reveals. It looked like she knew something deeper than what I’m thinking she does. “She said your father called her, asking if you were with her and stuff, she also mentioned a bunch of other people who were apparently also concerned.”

“Did you tell her that it was you?”

“I told her you’re not jailed yet.” A sip, then she continues. “And for a broke runaway who doesn’t have a licence, you’re doing just fine.”

I mumbled a soft “ _thanks_ ” under my breath upon hearing that she did not disclosed my location. I don’t think I can meet Father this early; I’m only a couple hours away from home, it wasn’t that long ago. Though I doubt Chaewon ever heard the verbalisation of my gratitude.

“Welcome.” She did hear, as I would have thought. She could claim that she hears every clack and thud from a 500 feet radius and I wouldn’t even be shocked.

The greens sway by quietly as another gust of wind passes by. A familiar folk rock echoes through inside as we both fell into silence. The song was recognisable at the first strum, but the soothing voice proved my assumption nonetheless. _Kim Kwang-seok, Please Wait for Me_ ; Father have always loved it, though he kind of ruins it every time he sings with his off-pitched vocals. But he jams to it almost so often that the song itself grew in me too overtime.

“Why didn’t you tell her?” I tore my eyes off the distance and looked back. “My location?”

I tapped the cup repeatedly as I waited for an answer. It came with only a shrug, “it’s not my business to tell. Though, you probably should talk to her or something. Sounds like everyone back home are worried dead.”

I wonder if I really should, but then again, _how?_ I don’t even own a phone at this moment. And the risk; what if Father finds me sooner than I thought? It’s not that it’s a bad thing, but what’s the point of me being a wholesome runaway if he does so?

I figured out that now’s not the right time. “Sure.”

Chaewon gave me the fishy look before evidently rolling her eyes. “A hundred bills you wouldn’t.” A small chuckle escapes from her lips after what was said, “nevermind, reckon I don’t have that amount either.”

This is rather strange; most of the times, you don’t register the important moments as they happen and only fathom that they were important once you look back. I got the passage from this edgy British show I watched on Netflix once. I realised that this is proven true, just now.

“You don’t have money with you?”

“I don’t.” Chaewon’s innocent eyes lands on mine as she speaks up once again, “d’you really think I’d be hitchhiking if I have enough cash to book a bullet train?”

“Where’d you get the fuel then?”

She looks at me, dead serious. “I robbed a gas station.”

 _Goddamn it._ “Okay.” I told myself to calm down. Inhale and exhale. Over and over again. Repeat until I gain enough braincells to sort out this mess we just entangled ourselves in.

“Okay.” I closed my eyes with heavy breathing. “I don’t have money with me too.”

Chaewon looks at me with the _calmest_ eyes, as if the trouble of having a breakfast inside a heavily-fortified place wasn’t that big of a disaster to begin with.

“What are we supposed to do?” Usually I could think of tangible solutions, but not under pressure.

She then answers my question with another; the most irrelevant one she could ever talk about in a situation like this. “Hey. Do you know why capitalists consider themselves as capitalists only when it’s benefiting?”

Even when panicking, I knew the answer to be human nature; behavioural psychology and its jinks are quite the understanding topics, really. I tell myself to take a deep breath before replying, “conditioning.”

“What?”

I wondered how wide her grasp is in understanding this situation. I mean, it’s not that hard. We entered a diner with empty pockets, ordered a bunch of foreign dishes—savoury ones, I just had to add—and now, we just realised that neither of us have money to pay for it.

In other words, we’re both screwed.

“Because,” I confined to her request nonetheless, “whenever there’s a stimulus, there is a response. In this case, the benefits you gain from capitalism, the stimulus; fancying it, the response. And so, they associate themselves with the system since it gives them rewards. Pavlov’s classical conditioning, should I add.”

“You think it’s natural?”

“Well, yes. Are they supposed to reject positive things?”

“Depends.” She gulps a large chunk of coffee before continuing, “humans are free beings, and free beings can choose whatever they wanna do with given stimuli.”

I could only look at her as she rests her chin on her palm, seemingly amused while conversing about such an unrelated topic. “We keep on forgetting that in between the stimulus and your response is your freedom to choose. _Frankl, Man’s Search for Meaning_.”

“You’re confusing me.”

“What I’m saying is,” she then detaches herself from the table, back against the soft mattress of the chair. She seemed composed and even a hint of smug that we got to eat decent food while being broke. “We can either panic or keep lowkey. Either way, we need to get the fuck out of here or we’ll end up cleaning food crumbs.”

“Seems a lot better than getting jailed.”

I earned myself a glare from the former. “I am not going to be a dishwasher.”

 

-

 

Our escape plan was pretty concrete; Chaewon would stand up first, ask one of the waitresses where the washroom is to trick them—I don’t get how it’s supposed to be tricking—while I quietly advance towards the door to leave. She’ll then go back inside and exit through the same door. Seems good enough, noticing as to how the place was busy catering clumps of newly-arrived customers.

And as it turns out, Chaewon was exceedingly good at deceiving people. When I said I’ll be waiting near the parking lot, I did not expect her to be walking towards me in no less than five minutes.

“Thought you’d ditch me.” Was the first thing she says upon seeing each other.

If you’d analyse everything with excessive greediness, then yes, it’s the most ideal thing to do, but I’d like to say that I’m a little too good for her to even think about doing that.

“What are we supposed to do now?” I tried to comfort myself with the thought that we successfully got out, but it sure doesn’t end there. What if the staff noticed us escaping without paying? What if they spotted our table which is now unoccupied? What if they realise it’s us?

“You ask the same question for the past hour now.” Reminded Chaewon, seemingly looking around. “Let’s just drive away and never return.”

Her idea was, of course, the most reasonable thing to do. Who hangs outside the place you just successfully escaped anyway?

“The car’s right here.” I started to rush towards the location of the car, which was a ton-noticeable because of its colour that seems to be shimmering against sunlight. Chaewon follows me suit, trying to keep up with the pace.

By the time I was close enough, I realised that we haven’t totally escaped from trouble, as this new one that appeared out of a sudden is undoubtedly the most burdening.

“A cop.” Chaewon says distressingly, as if it wasn’t clear enough for my eyes. “There’s a cop!” A hushed whisper as she grabs my arm, ceasing my steps.

We stood side by side facing the back of said cop.

Several feet ahead is a uniformed woman, seemingly inspecting the immobile Picanto. I pushed my lips into a thin line, clueless of why she’s bothering my- _Father’s_ car. Chaewon remains on her spot as the cop saunters around towards the bunker area.

The red-haired directs her gaze at me almost the same instant as the cop spotted us standing there.

“Ma’am, is something wrong?”

The morning heat had never become so dizzying as it is at the moment, or is it the fact that we are one step closer to the situation we most dreaded? It’s hard to tell.

“Is this your car?” She speaks up again as I felt Chaewon’s grip on my arm tightening.

_Say no. Say no. Say no._

“Yes, it’s mine.”

Chaewon gives me a glare after my acknowledgement.

I simply shrugged at her with shaking eyes as the cop pulls out a note, seemingly a parking ticket. I wish I was outstanding at lying, really.

My parking skills weren’t great, I admit, but a parking violation wasn’t what I was expecting. A parking violation, out of all law penalties there possibly are, a _goddamn_ parking violation is what will lead me straight to jail.

“You parked between two spaces, kid.” She approaches, hand extending towards us. I took the parking ticket carefully, skimming through phrases like _‘this vehicle is improperly parked for…’_ and _‘your plate number has been recorded.’_

I absolutely have no idea on what to say, however, self-control is the most essential right now. The need to talk will just get things worse. The basic logic to get you out of this situation is to stay mum unless asked.

Chaewon didn’t seem to think the same as I was. “Yeah, she sucks at parking. You see, my friend right here’s a newbie, so- yeah, have at it.”

“A newbie?”

“Yeah, she just learned like a couple of months ago? I don’t know.”

The cop—which by the way goes with the name of Kwon Eun-bi, gives us the doubtful, police-like eye.

I closed my eyes and heaved a nervous sigh; this girl just disclosed that I’m a newbie, and that fact will, again by basic logic, will lead the cop to asking the most unnerving question.

“How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-one.” Fibbed Chaewon inherently, it didn’t even take her much effort to lie in front of a person of authority. The age she just told was almost believable too, if it wasn’t for her face looking like fifteen.

She got Ms. Kwon sold though. “I’m not asking you, I’m asking hers.”

She crosses her arms as she looks at me, waiting for an answer. “Well I’m-” I wanted to say that I was the same age as Chaewon, even a bit older, like twenty-two. But the words just could not slip out of my airpipe.

Eunbi’s suspicion raised ten folds at that. “Fine, I’ll let you go since it’s the first offense and you guys do not seem to be around here. But you need to be recorded in case you park in spaces again.”

“Yes, I swear she will not do that anymore, thanks! Can you step aside and let us drive now?” Chaewon has that teasing grin of hers again which could literally irritate everyone, and the former was of no exception.

Policewoman Kwon Eun-bi heaves a sigh, clearly letting self-control take over her. “Quit messing around and hand over your licence.”

“I’m sorry?”

She extends her open palm on me after scribbling something on her notes, probably the car’s plate number. “Your licence, hand it over for me to record.” Her hand stays hanging on daylight mist as I looked over at Chaewon.

“What are your names?” Eunbi inquires once again, open palm still insisting for _my_ licence. Clearly, I don’t have anything to give up, nor she will have anything to record in that tiny cop-ish diary of hers. How could you record something that is not even present? _I’m seventeen, for heaven’s sakes, of course I don’t have one, that’s illegal_ —I wanted to tell her, but if I did, I probably better start thinking how I would sleep snugly inside a prison cell tonight.

Either way, if I’d stay mum and leave her questions unanswered, it will be the same outcome. And so, it’s only reasonable to say that the best strategy right now is to run, run as fast as we freaking can.

“Kids. Your licence. Hand it. Now.” Ms. Eunbi right here had probably figured it out by now; cops are cops for a reason, they’re investigative, morally-upright, logically-inclined type of humans, and are really great at reading their fellows.

I looked over at Chaewon whose eyes were probably attached to Eunbi for all this time. Unknowingly, I reached for her clenched fist to divert her attention to me. It worked, but she didn’t bother shifting her vision to meet mine; we just knew instantly that it’s the best thing to do right now.

Chaewon did the honours of announcing it though.

_“Run, just fucking run.”_

I knew it was better to run into opposite directions, in that way we could confuse Eunbi, though deep down in my guts I know that she’ll go after me anyway. I was never great at running for my life; I remembered that I had this junior in school who was a track & field athlete, but her great skills appeared to me as tiring rather than useful. Ahn Yujin, her name by the way, and I totally have no idea why or how am I thinking about her and her prodigious sprinting skills rather than everything I left behind inside the Picanto

But I ran out of adrenaline, after Chaewon who was surprisingly a fast one.

Of course, the cop was behind us, and by letting my mind adrift to that one junior, Eunbi almost had my arm in her clutch. I would’ve been dead meat if it wasn’t for Chaewon reaching out for my other hand. She secures it with her own as we ran as fast as we could, from the parking lot, to wherever nowhere takes us.


End file.
